


Sand in Our Fists.

by doubleinfinity



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Loki saying "uh huh", M/M, Tents, Thor convincing himself he's a grand brother, emotional masking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:33:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubleinfinity/pseuds/doubleinfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is in Midgard, trying to protect Loki from his own foolish mistakes, but becomes too ashamed to interfere. Dwelling on the painful thought that he is a neglectful guardian, Thor finds himself visited by his brother, and is given the chance to protect him once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand in Our Fists.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't brought any of my Thorki to AO3 yet, but I figure since it's so important to me, I probably should spread it around~ c:

Thor used to crush ants for Loki when they were children.

With his toy hammer, he'd flatten the bugs one by one, sparing his squeamish brother from their tiny legs, which would go crawling onto his skin.

So now Loki doesn't know why, when Thor is standing so close with Mjölnir in his grasp, (watching Loki bleed, stoic and breathless on the ground), his brother doesn't take out his enemies, when they are only just another pile of insects.

☭

Thor lays on the inflated mattress, eyes pointed quizzically at the ceiling.

Rest does not arrive- his eyelids are penetrated by the image of his brother, stagnant on the ground. How could Loki be so foolish, expecting agents of Shield and immortalized superheroes to fall to their knees? Thor is accustomed to the selfishness, and it is a pettiness he has even come to understand. But he cannot fathom this act of insolence.

To remember his own behavior, however, is a wholly different sensation. The mere memory stabs him with pain.

 _He_ is Loki’s older brother, it is _Thor_ who knew better and should have acted as a guardian, keeping the other protected from his own impulsivity. He views it in his mind over and over: how he averted his eyes and turned away from the scene, shameful of his self-defeated kin.

Even if it had only served to make a vain point, Thor should have thrust a fist into Iron Man’s chest, or hurdled Captain America’s shield into the sixth realm. Anything but dejectedly casting his eyes away and leaving Loki to bleed out on the ground.

Resisting the images, Thor clenches the blanket desperately, wishing he had filled this fist with his brother’s hand instead, so he could tear Loki from his fatally futile plans and bring him safely home. It might have taken centuries to tame his wild anger, but at least Thor would been ensured that his brother would be invulnerable to attack, removed from a path of harm. But now he is God-knows-where, injured, and no more learned than before.

The wind ripples across the surface of Thor’s tent, bringing his eyes back into focus.

The tent that they’d secured for him has a wide canvas, thick, so that only understated beams of dark light are able to leak inside the fabric. He was notified that the rest of the fighters were given shelter in a larger building; these people also reported that Loki had slipped from their grasp once more. Thor doesn’t know whether to feel thoroughly glad for his brother’s freedom, or in fear at the notion of him having the free will to make more detrimental decisions.

It’s only been a couple minutes when the memory returns. It comes with such repetition, as if haunting him, though never diluting its effect. He still sees his brother’s pleading eyes, silently asking Thor to beat his villains off him.

Thor has always been Loki’s private advantage. The boy would comfortably instill his own form of social justice by pursuing bullies, and though he could not ever hope to single-handedly usurp the power of the playground, so much as coming home with a split lip could result in Thor kicking the asses of his entire class.

Loki has only ever needed to provoke, because Thor has always taken care of the rest. Except for, apparently, this time. The thought weighs on him so intensely, it inadvertently drags his mind to sleep.

☭

Laughter sounds through the darkness of Thor’s tent, saccharine and defeated. Thor jerks up and grapples for his hammer, finding it immediately but allowing his fingers to go limp. His echoic memory reveals exactly who the chuckle came from.

“You fret, brother.”

Loki’s tone is playful, but his voice gives away the fact that he’s tired and weak.

Thor sees a green glow in the darkness, and thinks he’s looking at the staff that Loki often now wields, but it is only a pair of heated, glistening eyes, olive and flickering.

“Of course,” Thor hoarsely responds, snapping at his brother’s carelessness. “I have never been asked to take on such a heavy burden before.”

“A burden, is it?” advances the sound, bringing Loki’s body into the light. “Such an inconvenience for you to have so much responsibility over your lax brother.”

Loki has spoken in spite like this before- but Thor is now able to see his brother’s face, and an uncharacteristic crease has formed in his brow. Loki’s expression offers apology, and in a private way, treats his own words with sensitive superciliousness that mocks his usually absurd tendencies. He whimpers and offers a smile, making Thor understand that he is only feigning a quarrel.

Breathless in relief, Thor stretches out his hand and Loki springs forward to grab it, clasping the male’s fingers between his two palms.

“I’m hurt,” he whispers, and Thor makes out the bandages that somebody has quickly spun over his brother’s wounds, barely able to coddle the blood that has hardly stopped seeping through. His clothing is just as frayed, ripped in many places and revealing gashes made in Loki’s flesh.

Thor squeezes his hand over Loki’s wrist, drawing himself up on the bed so he can be level with the male’s eyes.

“Loki,” he speaks sternly, “You need rest. You are greatly injured and must regain your strength.”

The edge of Loki’s mouth caves into a bitter smile.

“No, you don’t want that,” he murmurs, drawing closer to Thor. He bends down onto his knees and rests his forehead against the man’s hand, rubbing his eyes on the skin and trying to knead the weariness out of them. “My strength is synonymous with destruction. Believe you me, you want me to be too weak to so much as draw one breath of anger. It elevates into action once I feel it burning in my chest.”

For a moment, Thor only breathes, watching as _Loki_ kneels to the brother he harbored violent animosity for. It’s isn’t intended, it’s ironic, and he can’t muster up laughter but he reaches out his other hand and seizes a fist of Loki’s hair in it, pressing the top of his own head to Loki’s scalp. “You will always find new anger,” he promises, sad in its truth, but acknowledging his belief in Loki’s vigor.

Loki’s head lifts and there is a wetness around his eyes, painting the tired rims.

“Some nights I want to come home,” he mumbles, gaze flickering across Thor’s watchful eyes. “Sometimes I want to be brothers again.”

Thor grabs the blanket off of him and opens a space up to Loki, his expression soft.

“I will make you safe again,” he assures as Loki tumbles into the covers and sinks within the sheets that’ve already been warmed by Thor’s body. It’s a feeling of comfort that he hasn’t come close to replicating since his time in isolation.

Loki is shaking, and Thor wraps him up in the blanket, rolling over and pressing him against the wall of the tent. He wants to trap the heat so it can all travel towards the other.

As soon as Loki’s body is given such repose, he becomes overwhelmed by the sickness and injuries that he’s been nursing these past days, and it makes him unable to fight the ache any longer.

Thor takes Loki’s faltering hands between his and rubs them back to warmth, keeping careful watch over Loki’s closed but quivering eyelids. “Do you remember your nightmares?” Thor interposes to distract Loki’s mind and fill the space. He knows that the male must be incredibly uncomfortable, not being able to supply quips in order to abolish the silence. But he sees Loki nod gently, and increases the speed at which he works on warming his hands.

The cosseting words, (combined with the non-malicious touch of familiar hands) make Loki yearn to reciprocate. His body desperately tries to speak through movement.

“You used to come to my room and ask me to protect you,” Thor muses quietly, feeling the tender thrive of Loki’s fingertips on his palm, gently dancing in response “You would crawl into my bed and stay throughout the hours until you felt safe enough to return to your room. I would have agreed to guard you all night.”

Loki’s fingers travel up Thor’s wrists, grasping his skin lightly and stroking circles against his veins.

“Protecting you was once my ultimate priority.”

Thor’s spoken memories make his body twist almost imperceptibly, sustaining a longing for the time in which he was completely safe, and gratitude for the guarding his brother always provided him.

He wonders if Thor can feel the tingle that travels through his abdomen, pumping blood to his heart and desire to his body. He wonders if Thor knows that these phrases are Loki’s undoing. He badly wants to older male to roll onto his weak body, too fatigued to resist, and warm every area of his flesh the way he is doing now. Loki tries to ask with his fingers, terrified that his _brother_ will be mortified, as if this is another one of Loki’s foolish misjudgments. Loki himself feels abashed by this wish.

“I am not proud enough to ever refuse you,” Thor continues, unaware of his brother’s restrained squirms. “I will keep you safe, just as I did when we were children.”

“I hardly feel like a child,” Loki breathes, etching his fingers up so that they wrap around Thor’s. His eyes open and he can very easily detect that Thor is _not_ aware of the way Loki’s body is becoming slack and warm as a result of his words, nor of the way his breathing is hollowing.

Loki closes his eyes again and rests his head against the pillow, allowing himself to absorb his brother’s heat and crawl his fingers around the spaces between Thor’s, still hoping that the other will grow aware of his silent questions.

The consistency of inaction lulls Loki’s throbbing mind, slowly drifting him off into sleep.

He only awakens when he can’t feel Thor’s hand wrapped around his anymore.

Spreading his fingers, he searches for dexterity in the sheets, but realizes that Thor is awake and mobile, hands spinning in circles near Loki’s elbows.

Overheated and succumbed to dizziness, his eyes take time to adjust. Then he realizes that Thor is unraveling the bandages on his forearms, exposing the still-fresh wounds to the air, and trailing his thumb along the lines of what will become scars.

“What are you doing?” Loki demands hastily, jerking his body back. He doesn’t know if it’s a result of wanting to spare himself from contamination, or if he is simply uncomfortable with exposing his injuries, especially when he had no chance to oppose. Either way, Thor freezes up when he sees Loki move so suddenly, but this time he brings his hands back onto Loki’s skin, continuing to peel away the cloth.

“They’re old,” he answers shortly, winding another bandage off and revealing the raw, polished skin beneath it. “Your wounds will get infected if we neglect to treat them properly. I have been given the tools you need to heal.”

Loki scoffs. “Yeah? From _them?_ ”

The pause that stiffens Thor’s body is just as obvious this time, but the male recovers once more, bending down to reach for a kit below the bed.

“I’m going to sting you, brother,” he warns, “So perhaps, meanwhile, you can tell me how you escaped alive?”

Loki’s body recoils as Thor uncaps antibiotic cream and skates it over his lesions. He sits up and toughens his posture, forcing his jaw down and his body straight.

Wincing more from concentration than pain, Loki squeezes his eyes shut and a small, flickering firefly appears in the air, its swollen tail glimmering. The distraction causes Thor to stop, mid-tear, from breaking off another strand of fresh gauze.

“Like so,” Loki breathes heavily, and the first syllable causes the image to vanish completely. Catching his breath, he adds, “Of course _they_ demanded a much greater attraction, however, you neither want that, nor want me to try for it. It’s hard enough to hold a small bug in place like this.”

Thor’s head bends down to hide a smile, and Loki raises it with his hand.

“What?”

Toying with the smile, Thor looks upwards. “You absolutely hate bugs,” he laughs, tearing off the rest of the compress and holding it in place on Loki’s arm as he winds it around the treated injury.

“Well- yes,” Loki stammers, “But there is no way you would remember _that_.”

Thor ties the gauze off and rests a hand on Loki’s bicep. “I remember all,” he answers.

Loki presses his eyes downwards and allows his wounds to be treated and redressed. This is the first time he’s noticed that the cuts on his back and chest are leaking through his shirt and adding splotches of red to the sheets and Thor’s clothing. His poor attempt at fixing himself shows obvious error, and Loki realizes that it has been like this as long as he can remember: putting himself into harm’s way, fruitlessly trying to piece himself back together, and then lying back as Thor heals his omissions.

He doesn’t stir from the monotony of cream-and-gauze until Thor hooks his fingers around the hem of Loki’s shirt, prying it upwards.

“ _Ah,_ no,” he speaks quickly, grabbing Thor’s hand and pushing it away. “I shall be fine.”

Thor’s face wrinkles, disconcertingly waving the other’s hand away. “You need treatment,” he resists, trying to gain the power back. “Something like this isn’t worth the needless defiance. You’re hurt, and you need to be careful about your wounds. Already, you’ve been exposed and bleeding for too long.”

“I know,” Loki says, palm cupped over Thor’s. “But it isn’t worth it, brother.” He stammers the last word.

“Worth what?” the other demands, moving Loki’s hand to the side like it’s an insect and pulling his shirt over his head before he can protest.

Without gloating, he returns to the antibiotics and circles his fingers on Loki’s collarbone, tending to a gash that’s torn through his skin. The process is quite similar, but Loki moves away fiercely, raising a hand in protection as he hits the wall of the tent.

Thor swipes the first aid kit to the side and crosses his arms.

“Tell me what this is.” He is demanding, though creased in a kindness that refuses an evasive answer.

Loki doesn’t know how to respond. How does one tell their brother that they want him to grab a hammer from the floor of the tent and bash in the brains of all the people he’s grown disdain for? How does he explain that he kept count of the exact number of ants that have been crushed for him, and that he longs to lose track of those tallies?

What comes out is a bark. “I am one of the ants.”

It’s sharp and angry. Loki can barely keep track of the wickedness that contours his face now, or how his voice turns gruff and villain-like. He snaps back to composure, shaking his head. “Nothing. Nothing, brother.”

“Loki.”

Thor’s hand reaches out and wraps around Loki’s forearm.

Loki watches it, as the edge of his brother’s fingers touch his exposed torso, making a fury of jumping heat. He wishes to jerk his arm away and refuse, but a prying helplessness on his face is all he can manage. He looks up from Thor’s gripping hand to his solid face. “You tell me what you mean.”

Sighing, Loki grabs Thor’s other hand and pulls it upwards to rest on his thigh.

“You killed ants for me,” he says, holding his hand in the air as if deliberating on whether he wants to do this or not. Loki gives in and places his fist in the palm of Thor’s hand, jabbing his fingertips down and drawing shapes on the man’s skin. “I was… so afraid of them in the end, because me fearing something ensured that you would kill it.” He looks up and sees Thor’s carefully watchful eyes, his own burning with terrified conviction. “But _brother_ , that is what ails me. I am afraid now, and I do not want you to kill it. I want the terror to burn on, it’s all I have.”

Thor interjects, closing his fist on Loki’s fingers. “You are rambling without sense, brother. I thought what you desired was for me to fight your enemies? I will, the case rests-”

Loki dives forward so he can take his brother by the neck, holding his blonde head straight so he knows he is listening. Thor seems to take it as a threat, and his eyes grow weary as he waits out Loki’s next movement.

“I am not talking about enemies,” he dictates, begging for Thor to unravel the sense on his own. “I’m talking about you. I’m talking about the fact that you protect me from my fears, you crush them with your fist.” Loki’s eyes swell; the hold he has on Thor’s jaw turns into a caress, desperate for consolation. “What if it were I who was to fear? Would you crush me, Thor?”

“Never wou-”

“Thor. You would. You will _crush. Me._ ”

And then Loki pulls Thor forward by his jaw and presses his mouth over the other’s, shivering in the heat between them.

He should give Thor a minute to register or refuse, but his lips cup over Thor’s surprise and run into his mouth, curling around his tongue. There is a soft thrive, and it triggers the memory of an older brother allowing this trembling body to climb into bed with him, where he stays guarded throughout the night. It triggers the thought of Thor remembering these times, and how the mere reference makes Loki want to flip his childish relationship onto its back and clasp Thor’s waist beneath him- for true closeness, for real pacts of protection.

Thor tugs away from the kiss and catches Loki by the wrist. He holds the veins by a clasp with brutally acute eye contact, making Loki want to shrink back into his shirt.

“I told you it wasn’t worth it.”

He barely gets to force a smile at himself when Thor is asking, “How long have you felt this?” Loki thinks that Thor is going to strike him, so he flinches, but the reaction causes Thor to wrap another hand around the back of his head, holding his hair in a clutch of earnestness.

“Tell me how long you’ve felt this,” he reiterates with a tone of desperation, something that’s always made Loki feel cornered and defensive.

“I don’t know,” he responds mockingly, “Perhaps as long as you’ve felt like a neglectful brother?”

Thor recoils at the sneer, shoving Loki’s head down in an act of frustration.

“Do not jibe,” he begs, eyes narrowed in furious urgency. “You may not act like this to absolve your uncomfortability with me. Be honest with me, brother, when did you begin to feel this way?”

A lump in Loki’s throat, he hardly can answer.

“The fact that we still address one another as brothers reveals my weak position,” he murmurs, turning his wet eyes to the side. “But I don’t know.” It’s honest. “I do not recall the first related thought, or the first time I entertained it. Eh, maybe I do.” He weakly laughs, but his face tightens back into concern. “I didn’t ever think that I’d see you again. I didn’t know that I’d be asked to cope with it.”

His teeth press together, trying to hold composure. “Idealization, brother,” he says with a quick flicker across Thor’s eyes. “Perhaps the notion of losing something allows us to appreciate it. Perhaps it gives us room to regard it as a titan force, when it was never more than a man. Yet we are neither, thus your questions are inadequate. Always, is the answer, I have always felt this way. As a child, even, Thor. Which I no longer am.”

It feels like he’s stuck in time, because Thor doesn’t dare move. But when he moves, it is all at once.

Suddenly, Loki is being pushed down onto the inflated bed with Thor’s hand snaking up the side of his thigh. He presses his fingers down against the front of Loki’s jeans, rubbing the protuberance that swells beneath fabric.

“Does this make up for it?” Thor asks as he embeds himself between Loki’s open legs, crashing against his brother’s bare chest. Loki is so stunned that the tears spill from the sides of his eyes, instantly mopped away by Thor pressing his lips down. Loki’s arms fall back but mouth opens to accept Thor’s tongue, slipping across his’ and then trailing down to the male’s neck, setting warm kisses that feel like breath along his collarbone.

“I-” Loki tries, and he means to say _yes,_ but he also does not understand. He hadn’t expected so much as embrace; he’s hardly worked past the first tentative kiss. But this is Thor’s _hunger,_ this is the Thor who would punch a twelve year in the face for making fun of Loki’s quirks.

Thor cups Loki’s erection in his fist and pulses against it gently, still divide by the Midgardian fabric, which is much thicker than anything he’s used to.

“I’m a good brother,” he breathes into Loki’s neck, burrowing against his nape. “I’m powerful. Nobody is capable of hurting you, not even yourself, so long as I’m present. There will be advantages to entrusting your health to me.” Loki feels a sting as Thor kisses the lesion on his collar, but the older bears no intention of harm.

Loki’s hips rise and he presses himself into Thor’s palm.

“Why now?” he asks quietly, closing his eyes to the sound of Thor thumbling with the unfamiliar clasp. He wonders if he should help, but he finds enjoyment in feeling his brother rip away at the hem, not understanding the ways of buttons and zippers.

Silent, but having finally having worked through them, Thor tears the jeans off and peels them from around Loki’s feet, thrusting them onto the floor of the tent.

With his hair draping around Loki’s abdomen, he wraps Loki’s cock in his hand and listens for the tremble of pleasure to course through Loki’s body. It’s more like a sigh when it comes, but breathes through Thor and he squeezes Loki harder, pumping his hand up and down.

Loki can only see through fizzling spots, for he both couldn’t have anticipated such an unplanned event, and because he’s never been touched tenderly anywhere. Nobody has thus far offered him warm company, let alone physical attention. It’s different than touching himself through a memory of somebody a world away. It’s different than fucking an irrelevant slate who needs to be cold and vacant enough to make room for the image of another.

Taking Loki’s cock between two fingers and rolling them in circles, Thor rises on his knees and lowers his chin to Loki’s ribs. His hand disappears as he uses both to pull his own pants off, followed by his shirt, which are both purposefully sent to the floor where they can’t be seen. Then he grabs Loki by the hips and tips him over so that he’s lying face-down, and Thor flattens the top of palm against Loki’s tip, using the other to slide his member upwards into his hand.

Wetness leaks into his fist, corresponding to the muffled moans pressed directly into the pillow.

Loki’s body murmurs in careful movements, offering acceptance that is spoken through undulations and contractions. Thor delicately arches his hips and presses his own erection against Loki’s opening, a hand coming up to take hold of one of the male’s sides.

But it’s the position, not Loki’s state, and Thor tells instantly that his brother isn’t ready, and he doesn’t want to inflict pain when he is already bruised and broken. He softens himself again Loki’s body and spreads kisses along his back, trailing his tongue over the creases of bone and muscle. Loki’s shivering frame asserts itself and rolls back over, pressing them chest-to-chest.

Loki's eyes are closed, absorbing the disbelief and raw touch, leaving his mouth to purse with small sounds that he quietly expels.

The bulkier male allows Loki to open his lips in a kiss as Thor lets his hand rise and fall, swift, feeling the way Loki’s body draws inward to the blood swelling in his cock.

With a satiated whimper, the younger’s body squirms, and he comes onto Thor’s palm and stomach with a burst of pleasure that reverberates every bone. For a moment, he registers nothing but the release of his own thrill, popping white-hot images in front of his eyes that slowly clear as Thor lessens his grip. Then there's a tempered decline, where the feeling dissipates and Thor's presence comes into focus.

Loki throws himself back to breathe and doesn’t laugh, the hedonism still dissipating, leaving him looking up at Thor with wide eyes that still want to know.

Thor takes a breath and peels his hand off of Loki’s flaccid member, wrapping both of his arms around the male’s back. He enfolds him in a way that thrives with heat, coming from Thor’s body and Loki’s response to it. Thor presses his lips back to his brother’s chest and exhales against it.

“Because now is the time that you needed me like this,” he answers, voice rumbling, made unsteady by his heavy breaths. “This is the way you wish to be protected.”

Loki gets scooped up by Thor and pushed playfully onto his side, where Thor presses his chest into Loki’s back and wraps his arms around his torso. Thor rocks him back and forth over an erection that still ripples between the older's legs.

“You have nothing to prove,” Loki speaks aloud. He watches a line of ants march across his memory, and for once he wants to let them pass, because they won’t truly _harm_ him- because he already is assured that Thor will, without hesitation, grind them all to black powder on the ground.

Thor grins and nips a lock of Loki’s hair between his teeth.

“You are still a child,” he endearingly whispers, shifting his hips so that his cock presses between Loki’s thighs. The mess of semen is sticky between them, a wetness on Loki’s back from where it settled on Thor’s chest.

“Hardly am I that, brother,” Loki murmurs to the guardian, closing his eyes and settling into Thor’s arms.


End file.
